Sax Man

(Previous installment)

The last time Henry had stopped was just a few days before the bulldozers moved in. How's it hangin', Mr. Henry, Smitty had greeted him. Hanging low like always, Henry laughed in reply. Business good this mornin'? Eighteen and change, Henry said, shaking his head. Low even for this time of year, Henry had thought without speaking. Early spring was even worse than winter, wind and cold rain sending commuters rushing past without stopping. 'Bout what I made here since six, Smitty said, before tax of course. Least you get to keep all of yours. What little there is of it, yeah, Henry said. The conversation was similar to most of the others they had in the mornings, on Henry's way to the hotel, and though their talks were plain and ordinary he now found himself missing them, Smitty gone after the bulldozers suddenly appeared one day, levelled the cashier shack and tore up the asphalt. As the office tower later rose Henry barely noticed it as he shuffled past.

(Next installment)